Problems
by Steve the Icecube
Summary: Tony's never told anyone about the voices. He's never needed to. But they've been getting worse and Bruce has been sticking around for too long and he's just too nice and understanding for Tony to keep it in much longer.
1. Chapter 1

'Hey there, Tony. How's it going?'

The voices always speak to me. Random things, usually.

'You going okay with the new missile design?'

I have no way to reply to them. They've been there since I was very young. I'm used to it. I've never told anyone about them.

'Spoken to Pepper recently?'

They reminded me of things I had to do.

'Don't you have a plane to catch?'

The voices kind of reminded me of Rhodey and Obie combined. I guess. Nice but stern.

'This desert is really dusty.'

Then there was Afghanistan.

'That hurts, doesn't it?'

It started off simply.

'You don't have a lot of time.'

But I did recognise that the voices were being a little harsher than before.

'You like the waterboarding? It's fun, isn't it?'

They became my tormentors.

'Ooh, that glow is pretty. Pity it's imbedded three inches in your chest and hurts so much you want to puke.'

They'd make me think about things I didn't want to think about. Things I never wanted to think about.

'Yinsen is dead. Dead. Dead. It's all your fault!'

They cackled in my ears, adding themselves to the torrent of pain and guilt that was a constant now.

'You'll never succeed Tony. This is bigger than you.'

They were demoralizing.

'Look at all that water, Tony.'

They made me notice things I wanted to ignore.

'Can you feel the shrapnel creeping closer?'

They pushed me to panic when I needed to keep my head clear.

'The poison is better than you.'

They scared me. I was trying desperately to save my life, but if I wasn't, then I'd be trying to get rid of the voices.

'You're going to die.'

I tried to make their insults into something to rally me, but it didn't work.

'Well, you made it. But what about the consequences of what you've done recently?'

I knew they had a little sense in their words.

'They don't want you. You're not good enough.'

The words started hitting me hard. Sometimes I'd go to my workshop after hearing a harsh taunt and cry to myself.

'Well, looks like you're not good enough for Captain America, either.'

I knew they were getting to me too much, that I was weak to pay any notice.

'You're going to die without talking to Pepper one last time.'

And then someone noticed that something was wrong.

"Hey, Tony, are you okay?"

It was Bruce. Of all the people to notice that had known me for so long, or the people who didn't know me that well, it was Bruce. Of course it would be Bruce. The person that, for some reason, I trusted.

Maybe it was because I feel bad about what I did to him. It was me who designed the Hulkbusters. It was me who tried to make his life a misery and only viewed him as an extra-difficult project. A challenge that I had to conquer because I was Tony Stark and that was what I did. I was the best and a genius.

I was fucking stupid. I know that. And the voices didn't hesitate to continue telling me that once I had given them that admission.

'You see, even you know you're stupid.'

Bruce must have seen that something had happened. "I'm sorry." He said politely. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

I shook my head and shot him a smile that just felt so fake. It was my mega-watt press smile that I used to cover up messes that I created. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, I'm just a little tired."

But it seemed that Bruce saw through my little act. Because he stuck around even though he'd initially said that he would be going as soon as the city was cleared up. And all the voices could say was that I was going to mess everything up.

I knew I was going to, too. But I'm pretty sure that I just believe the voices, now.


	2. Chapter 2

The voices are creeping up on me. They surprise me at night when I wake up from the now-constant nightmares. Nightmares full of jeers and laughing. People laughing at me, telling me how weak I am as I clutch my head and watch them all die, slain by the chitauri, and then the suit flies up, and up, and I'm through the wormhole again and I wake up, shaken and terrified.

And then the voices pound at my head and I can feel myself believing them more and more. I cry to myself for a good fifteen minutes and then go down to my workshop and start another suit. By morning I'm always exhausted when I'm forced to eat breakfast with Bruce and Pepper by JARVIS, and I know it's only going to be so long before Bruce leaves to some country and I'll never see him again, and before or after, I'll mess something up with Pepper and she'll break up with me.

Bruce knows that something is very wrong with me, he's just too good at the people analysis thing, but he isn't a psychiatrist so I'm okay for the moment.

I haven't looked up what problem I have, I know I have one, but I'm not going to look it up. Because if I give it a label then it will just make it worse. I know labels are something I just wouldn't be able to stand. It was bad enough with the SHIELD analysis.

Every other day I do things in the lab with Bruce. He hasn't asked any questions that are particularly probing just yet, but I know he's dying to ask what the problem is. And it isn't just with the voices that he has some idea about so far, I know he's curious about my nightmares and the one anxiety attack I've had, which was when I went up on to the roof at night.

I know that my mental health is just taking a nosedive. Panic attacks, nightmares and an inability to sleep. And whatever the voices are.

But I just can't bring myself to care all that much. I just need to chill and coast along. That's what I've always done. It will work.

'It won't work. It never will.'

The voices usually come with a painful squeeze in my heart now. It's just some psychological response, that it triggers fear, but it seems real enough. They always leave a sense of dread behind, too. Because there is a tiny bit of truth in the words they say to me. There's always truth behind the words they say. They used to be nice, and truthful, so they must have some truth in them.

'I like your reasoning. The descent into trust of us.'

I'll never trust them. Never. I'm sure of it.

...But I still believe them a little. This really is a problem now. I'm too conflicted, I have to tell someone, anyone, but I can't tell Pepper, because she'll leave. I can't tell anyone I've known for a long time because it means I've been lying to them for so long. I can't tell anyone who would try to get me to take some kind of medicine to stop it (they mess with your brain), and I can't tell anyone I don't want to scare away.

I can't tell anyone, then.

Ugh, I'm pathetic. I need to get my act sorted. Just keep a straight face and I'll be fine. Even if I'm breaking inside, it's the outside that counts to most people. Almost everyone. Shy of...basically no one. I'm not sure if Pepper cares about the inside. Or Rhodey, or Bruce.

"Tony?"

I looked up. "Hm?"

Bruce smiled. "You zoned out."

"Oh." I grinned awkwardly. "Nothing wrong. Just a bit tired. I haven't been getting much sleep."

Bruce lowered his eyes. "Are you sure nothing's wrong? You seem a little more than tired."

"I am just _very_ tired. Like, I haven't slept for more than three hours in the last month."

"Tony, I used to be on the run. You're not only bothered by tiredness, or the nightmares that cause it. There's something else."

'He's on to you.' The voices jeered. 'He's going to lock you in a padded room and dissect your brain.'

"There it is again." Bruce said sharply. "You duck your head suddenly, and your hand jerks. Pain and worry shows in your features, but it's gone after a few seconds."

I felt my breathing quicken, biting the side of my mouth. "It's nothing. I'm tired, how many times do I have to say it?" It came out harsher than I expected, a snap rather than a gentle reprimand. I winced and left the room before anything else too revealing should happen.

I went straight to my workshop and collapsed on my couch. This was going too far. Way too far. As I do a lot of the time when I'm alone now, I cried quietly, as usual, my only comfort being Dummy, who's used to this kind of thing having known me for so long. You and Butterfingers weren't there during my darkest times between when I graduated and when I took over the company, and then the short space of time after that. It wasn't that I missed my parents at all, it was just that everything that I'd been able to shirk off before was piling up on me, and everyone was putting pressure on me for various reasons. I petted Dummy as he made concerned chirping noises.

I felt so hopeless. I have almost no control over myself anymore. I'm just pulling my weak façade behind me, hoping that no one will notice. Bruce is on to me and there's nothing I can do about it except listen to the voices.

I hate them, but in ways, they're making things so much better for me. They give at least something to me. A voice of something I can believe in. Because I'm not sure about what I really want anymore.


End file.
